


All the Wrong Places

by greenmage128



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Federal Agents, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Undercover Missions, because I'm original in that way, in which angels are apparently feds and demons are criminals of varying sorts, maybe hints of Michifer but shhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-23 15:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2552192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenmage128/pseuds/greenmage128
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gadreel makes the mistake of falling for the criminal he's supposed to take down, but it might just turn out in his favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is how I start off my NaNo, with something I was totally not planning to write. And yet again, one of those [crazy AU posts](http://greenmage128.tumblr.com/post/99286688419/insomniackid7-guarneretoye-consider-these) is to blame. The prompt being: "i’m a government worker and i had to seduce you for a case but i’m starting to like you legitimately au". No regrets! Enjoy!

Gadreel paused outside his supervisor's door, taking a deep breath and eyeing the shiny gold name plate that read 'Director Michael Novak' with trepidation. He gave himself another moment before entering. The director was seated at his desk, rifling through reports, and Gadreel could see his own letter sitting atop one pile closest to Michael.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” he asked.

Michael looked up from the pages, leaning back in his chair. “Agent Sarver. Yes, please, have a seat.”

He almost didn't but remaining standing might've tipped off the director. Playing it normal was the only way he was going to make it through this meeting unscathed.

“So, I imagine you know why I called you here,” Michael said as he sat.

“My withdrawal from the MacLeod case.” Gadreel's gaze strayed to his letter, gut churning as his instincts were in turmoil, which should have been proof enough that he was doing the right thing. “Sir, I can explain—”

“No need.” Michael picked up the letter, skimming over it and making a noise in his throat. “I understand why you want out. It was a lot to ask of you. Infiltration isn't your normal type of assignment, but that's precisely why we picked you for the job.”

Gadreel shook his head. “No, sir, you don't understand—”

“What I don't understand is why you would want to walk away now, so close from the finish line.” Michael gave him a look, tilting his head just so to the side, and Gadreel swallowed hard. Agents who got that look tended to spend the rest of the day cleaning out their desks. “MacLeod trusts you, given you more information than any of our bugs or previous operatives have been able to pick up. And I don't need to remind you all the benefits of successfully closing this case, Gadreel.”

No, he didn't, and that was part of why even writing that letter had been so difficult. Gadreel took another deep breath. “As I mentioned in my resignation, I feel at this point that I'm not capable of completing the mission.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “'Not capable'? That doesn't exactly clarify the situation, Agent.”

“All right, fine.” Gadreel sighed and leaned back in his chair, wiping his palms on his pants. “I'm too close to the situation, sir.”

The director clicked his tongue with a small nod. “Ah. Too close to him, you mean.”

And there it was, out in the open. Gadreel braced himself for the shit-storm that was sure to follow. “Yes, and I feel my objectivity has been lost. I cannot, in good conscience, proceed with the case.”

He was silent for several moments, and each minute that passed was agony. Gadreel's heart rate picked up, pulse pounding, and he might've been sweating again. Michael, meanwhile, kept staring at him, face blank, until he finally chose to speak again.

“And that's why you will.” Michael's gaze was stern now, and Gadreel had to stop himself from squirming under it. “MacLeod isn't stupid. You back out now, he'll suspect something, probably uproot his entire operation just to make sure we don't have any valid information.”

With his last bit of courage, Gadreel tried, “But, sir—”

“No.” The director's tone brooked no argument, and he crumpled up the letter, dropping it into the trash with a resounding thud. “You'll stay on this case, and I don't want to see you in this office, until it's done. Am I understood?”

Gadreel had no choice but to nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Good, now go,” Michael said, nodding himself. “We're relying on you, Agent.”

* * *

Gadreel did his best not to make a run for the elevator. His body calmed by the time he hit the lobby, but his mind was racing now instead. As he stepped out onto the sidewalk, his cell phone rang, and it was the last person he wanted to talk to. Naturally.

“Crowley,” he said by way of greeting, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice and failing.

The response was perhaps appropriate. “Where the hell are you?”

“I'm…” And then it hit him. “Shit, Crowley, I'm sorry. The meeting with Milton. I'll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Crowley let out a growling sigh, and Gadreel was glad he wasn't there in person at the moment. “Don't bother. It's done.”

Guilt twisted his stomach into knots, guilt he should not have been feeling for letting down a damned criminal. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” Crowley said, though the strain his voice undercut his words. “Just come by the house. We need to talk.”

With that, he hung up, leaving Gadreel with a plethora of conflicting emotions. At the very least he should call for backup; he knew all too well about Crowley's cruelty and how he dealt with those who failed him. It would prove a point to Michael too, though the director might just think he was grasping at straws for a way out. After a few more minutes of debating, standing in the middle of the sidewalk and staring at his phone like it was going to give him answers, Gadreel shook his head and made for his car.

When he reached the MacLeod mansion, Crowley was in the living room, lounging on the couch with a glass of scotch and the TV on mute. He didn't look up when Gadreel entered the room.

“Tell me,” he said, taking a sip of his beloved Craig, the bottle of it sitting on the coffee table before him, a rare vintage bottle that Gadreel had gotten him for Christmas. A deliberate choice, for certain, and one that was not helping Gadreel's sense of dread. “What was so important for you to do this afternoon that it required blowing me off?”

Gadreel straightened, puffing himself up. “I don't have an explanation, but I promise it won't happen again.”

Crowley did look up this time, a flash of anger in his eyes. “Don't pull that bullshit on me. Now answer the question.”

If he was going to kill him, Gadreel wished he would do it already. It would've been easier. His answer was a lame, “Family emergency,” that he didn't expect Crowley to buy for a second.

And he didn't. In fact, Crowley laughed, downing the rest of his drink and standing. It was then that Gadreel noticed something off—the left sleeve of his shirt was torn near the shoulder and stained dark red. “You are a terrible liar, you know that? Though I did expect better from a federal agent.”

“I'm not—” Gadreel stopped himself, shaking his head, because it was no use. His cover was blown, and he wouldn't walk out of this house alive. “How long have you known?”

“Since day one,” Crowley said. He smiled, and Gadreel had to be going insane, which wouldn't have surprised him at this point, because it was almost affectionate. “To your credit, I didn't suspect a thing until Bela ran your background check. All the pieces fit together a bit too well, everything far too clean. A fed job if I've ever seen one. In fact, I'm pretty sure I could name the agent who built your cover.”

None of this was processing, and before he could stop himself, Gadreel asked, “Why did you hire me then?”

“Because I figured you'd make a good bodyguard, and you did, up until today.” Crowley glanced down at his arm, and that didn't add to Gadreel's guilt at all.

He pushed past it, because dwelling on it was only going to lead him down a very bad road. “That doesn't add up. You had an ulterior motive, because you always do.”

Crowley smirked. “Perhaps. I'll show you mine, if you show me yours.”

“What—”

“Let's be upfront with each other from here on, shall we? You tell me where you were this afternoon, and I'll let you in on my grand scheme.” Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Sound fair?”

Gadreel nodded, and Crowley led him over to the couch. “Yesterday I put in a request to be taken off this case, and my supervisor called me in to discuss it. I was just leaving the building when you called.”

“Your request was denied, I take it? That would explain quite a bit.” Crowley rifled around the coffee table, retrieved a first aid kit from among the mess, which was unusual in and of itself, and handed it to Gadreel. “Dare I ask why?”

From the kit Gadreel took out some alcohol pads. The wound wasn't awful, a bullet graze by the looks of it, but it had to be cleaned before he could bandage it. Crowley hissed as he swiped the pad across the area, and the bleeding began anew. Gadreel applied clean gauze and pressure to fix that. “Because of this,” he said at last, words sticking in his throat. “Because I…”

“Mm, I see.” Crowley was quiet while he finished the bandaging, and Gadreel didn't fight that notion. As he was closing the first aid kit, Crowley grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him in close, lips mere inches from Gadreel's. “Was wondering when you'd come round, love. I like you too.”

It would have been easy to close that gap, to give in, but there were too many complications, too many things that could go wrong, though Gadreel couldn't bring himself to pull away either. “I should work on being less transparent.”

“No, it suits you.” Crowley let go only to slide closer to him on the couch.

The nearness was not helping, their knees and elbows just touching, and neither was Crowley's smug grin. Blood rushed to everywhere but his brain, so he couldn't help it if his next words came out dripping in innuendo. “You mentioned showing me yours?”

Crowley chuckled at that, those brown-green eyes of his lighting up with a mix of amusement and arousal that was kind of intoxicating. “There's a reason I wanted you at the Milton meeting today, other than the obvious. He's far worse, and I know the feds have been dying to get their hands on him for years.”

“You would help us take him down?” Gadreel asked. “Let me guess, in exchange for giving you immunity.”

“I'm not that optimistic. A minimal sentence would suit me fine,” Crowley said with a shrug. “Bigger fish and all.”

Michael would never agree to it, but Milton was someone they had never been able to bag, and everyone they sent to work the case ended up dead or worse. Uriel had almost gotten the entire department killed, but some quick thinking from Castiel had managed to save all their asses. “I might be able to convince my director, but the chances aren't good. We'll need solid proof first.”

“'We'?” Crowley grinned again, and he skimmed a hand up Gadreel's chest to rest on his neck, thumb playing along his jaw. “I like the sound of that.”

Gadreel leaned into the touch without thinking. Holding back wasn't going to do him any good, not any more, and if the case requirements lined up with his personal desires, well that would just be a happy coincidence. “Then do you think _we_ can get another meeting with him?”

“Already done. This was just warning fire, and I'm sure he'll be expecting me to come equipped with better backup this time.” Crowley dragged him back down, and Gadreel felt his other hand settle on his hip. “Assuming I can trust you to have my back.”

“If you have mine. I'll certainly need the help,” Gadreel said, relaxing even though the real danger had just begun.

Crowley nodded, leaning in. “Of course, darling. And you know I keep my agreements.”

He did, and Crowley did, so Gadreel was content to seal this one with a kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out Gadreel and Crowley make a good team in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain decided to continue this, and I'm rather happy with the result. Enjoy, ya'll. :D

The drop was going fine until Michael showed up, which was to be expected, but the result was a fair bit different than Gadreel imagined.

When the director pulled up to the scene, alone, Milton's reaction was a surprising, “Michael? What are you—”

“That's Director Novak now, Luke,” Michael said.

Alarm bells went off in Gadreel's head. This was not good, and the odds of this ending well were—

And then Milton was _laughing_ , like Michael's statement was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. If his anger was chilling, Milton's mirth was downright terrifying.

There was no way Gadreel and Crowley were walking out of here alive.

“So, what? You're going to bring me to justice like Daddy would have wanted?” Milton asked after he'd managed to get ahold of himself.

Crowley tugged on Gadreel's sleeve, and when Gadreel glanced over to him, he inclined his head back towards the car.

“No,” Gadreel mouthed, shaking his head with as minimal movement as he could manage.

It must not have been small enough, because Michael turned his attention to them. “Not quite, Luke. I've spent all these years trying to track you down, trying to get close. You were an enigma, completely off the radar. And finally I have, thanks to you two.”

“All that for me? I'm honored, Mike. Though I gotta say, I'm surprised it took you this long to find me. I wasn't exactly subtle.” Milton smirked and looked back to Crowley and Gadreel. “So what are we going to do with the interlopers?”

Michael unholstered his gun and leveled it at them. “Well we can't leave any witnesses.”

In an instant Gadreel was moving, grabbing Crowley and making a dive behind the car. Michael started firing before they could get to safety but thankfully missed.

“Damn it,” Crowley said. He pulled out his gun and fired a shot over the hood. “Any more of your corrupt superiors you want to invite here?”

Gadreel glared at him between his own shots. “You're blaming this on me? This was your idea, Crowley!”

“If you give up now, we'll make your deaths quick and painless,” came Milton's voice over the din of gunfire.

“You can take your mercy and shove it, Milton!” was Crowley's answer, punctuated by another shot. To Gadreel he hissed, “We need a plan.”

Numbers flew through Gadreel's head, counting out the gunshots that he could, estimating how many rounds Milton and Michael's weapons had, and hoping neither of them had a backup. “They won't outlast us in ammo. If they want us dead, they'll have to do it the hard way.”

Glass shattered over Crowley's head, the passenger window giving way. Crowley cursed but took advantage of the impromptu embrasure, and there was a shout from their opponents. “Think we can take them?”

That math was a little more complicated, a few more assumptions and guesses, not to mention pushing down the memories of Milton's pragmatic and brutal tactics. “It'll be close.”

More fire was exchanged, and Gadreel's chamber clicked empty at last. Michael was a hair faster at realizing it, and took a free shot before Gadreel could duck. Crowley grabbed him by the shirt just as the bullet grazed his scalp.

“You all right?” Crowley asked, giving him a once over before returning fire.

Gadreel shook his head, though that proved to be the very wrong thing to do as the world around him spun. “I'm fine,” he said, though he wasn't sure who that was supposed to convince.

Crowley's gun gave the same sad, empty sound Gadreel's had, and he dropped to the ground, settling against the car door. “Perhaps calling _other_ backup would be a good idea about now.”

“No, I'm sure Michael has a contingency for that,” Gadreel said, hating how out of breath he sounded.

The gunfire seemed to die down, a sign that either Michael or Milton had run out of ammo himself, and Gadreel twisted to see which. As he did, he felt something hard press into his hip. His eyes widened, and he couldn't help the grin that crossed his face.

“What?” Crowley stared at him with a raised eyebrow. “Don't you dare crack on me now, damn it.”

“No, it's—” Gadreel shifted his hips to fish the recording device out of his belt and waved it at Crowley. “We don't need backup.”

Recognition flickered across Crowley's face, and then he was grinning too. “You're a bloody genius, you know that?”

“Just following protocol,” Gadreel said, though the comment might have made it a little harder for him to stop smiling.

Crowley gave him a look but didn't pursue the issue. “Now all we have to do is get out of here in one piece.”

There was a sudden quiet, not even the noise of birds in the trees of their secluded meeting place. While Gadreel wanted to hope it was because all parties present were out of bullets, he couldn't be sure, wasn't definite enough for him to place faith in it.

“One last chance. I know you don't want to do this the hard way, Gadreel,” Michael called.

Gadreel closed his eyes, listening for any other sound that might give away their game. When there was none, he whispered to Crowley, “I'll hold them off while you get the car. Ours should be fine, but at least one of their tires is flat, so they can't follow.”

“And what? You play the hero while I head for the hills? I don't fucking think so.” Crowley grabbed Gadreel's collar and shook him. “We're in this together, whether you like it or not.”

Though it was totally not the moment for it, then again their timing was always so inappropriate it could be the basis for a fucking series of romantic comedies, Gadreel crushed his lips to Crowley's, smiling all the while. “Have some faith in me, all right?”

“To be fair, I don't have faith in anything,” Crowley said, returning the smile, though the effort seemed to be hard-fought.

“Then you won't be surprised if this doesn't work.” Gadreel took a deep breath and then yelled back, “What's wrong? Afraid a straight-up fight won't go your way, Michael? You're the one who should be running.”

He jumped up, launching himself across the trunk of Crowley's car like something out of _The Dukes of Hazzard_ , and Michael and Milton both were running out to meet him. Milton was injured—he must have been the one hit by Crowley's shot through the window—but that didn't decrease the brutality of his attack. Gadreel expected it, rolled with the punches, used the momentum to strike at Michael and push him far enough away that Gadreel had space but kept him close enough that Crowley would go unnoticed.

It seemed to be working, all except for the fact that Crowley had yet to start the damn car, until Gadreel felt the press of cold metal against his neck and saw Milton's face twist into a grin.

“That's better,” Milton said, inching the knife across Gadreel's skin. “Give it up, Crowley. Try to run and the good little agent eats it.”

A gun cocked, but Gadreel couldn't discern who was wielding it, unable to take his eyes off Milton's face. Over the blood roaring in his ears, he heard Crowley say, “Let him go, or your 'good little agent' takes a bullet. I can't imagine he'd enjoy that.”

Milton growled, eyes narrowing into slits. “He'll be dead before you get the shot off.”

“You want to take that chance?” Crowley's voice was confident, composed as ever, and if Gadreel didn't think it would get him killed faster he might've been smug about that. “Your dear Mikey went through all this trouble to find you, and after all that you're just going to casually throw his life away, because you couldn't be bothered to properly calculate the odds? That would be such a shame.”

“Luke—”

“Shut up.” Milton shoved Gadreel away, only for Crowley to catch him, the gun still leveled at Michael. “Get out of here, before I change my mind.”

Michael grabbed at his shoulder. “Luke, you can't just—”

“They've got nothing you can't make disappear,” Milton said, brushing away Michael's hand. “Something you both should do too, since you seem so insistent on not-dying.”

“Oh, trust me, this is an aberration. Saving my own neck is what I'm good at.” Crowley waited until Gadreel had climbed into the passenger side of the car before getting in himself and speeding out of the clearing.

* * *

When Gadreel made it back to his office, he made sure to play the tape to everyone in his department that he could find, made copies for them and himself, and then sent the original to the higher-ups at the Bureau.

The next morning he got the go-ahead to arrest Michael and his brother Luke (after searching through records Michael tried his damnedest to bury, Milton turned out to be a fake name), and thanks to Crowley and his endless network of information they were easy to track down.

Crowley had to be arrested to, in the end, and he refused bail on the condition that he got to stay at a local facility—where it was safer for him—until his trial, a request he was granted due to his prior cooperation with the FBI. He even testified at Michael and Luke's trials, which Gadreel tried to talk him out of, but Crowley argued there was little risk in it at this stage of the game, and he wanted to see those bastards burn. Gadreel wasn't inclined to disagree.

Michael's trial aired out all his dirty laundry, how much he'd actually known about “Milton's” operations and how much he let slide, how many agents he'd sent to their deaths, how Uriel's betrayal may very well have been orchestrated. Luke's crimes were even worse and far more numerous but also of no surprise. They both got life imprisonment without parole.

“Two years in minimum security. A damn slap on the wrist. My lawyer was worth every penny,” Crowley said, through a phone and behind plate-glass.

Gadreel gave him a look. “Hey, I helped, remember?” He had testified during Crowley's hearing, and while he couldn't lie about the crimes he'd witnessed, he also made clear that closing the Milton case would've been impossible without him.

Crowley grinned. “True enough, darling. I never did thank you for that, did I?”

“No, and I don't want to hear it until you can do it properly,” Gadreel said with a laugh.

“Well, that's a challenge I have no choice but to accept.” Crowley leaned back in his chair, something in his eyes that Gadreel didn't want to think about at the moment. “Does that mean you'll wait for me?”

He had to stop himself from giving his instinctive answer, because there was no way he was going to give Crowley that much leverage. “I might just have to; I'm too busy taking out your underworld buddies to have time for anything else.”

That brought a chuckle out of Crowley, plus a little smile that might as well have called bullshit. “Right. Guess I'll have to go straight then, once I'm out of the joint.”

“It's not so bad, you know. I'm sure the Bureau could use you and all that criminal expertise of yours.” Gadreel's tone was teasing, but his heart leapt at the idea. Sure, it was foolish to hope for, too crazy to work, but he could dream, couldn't he?

Crowley scoffed. “Flattery will get you nowhere, love.”

Despite himself, Gadreel sat up straighter, leaning towards the glass. “Hey, sometimes bad guys make the best good guys. Plus, if you can get on work-release, they'll let you out that much sooner.”

“You certainly know how to charm a girl,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes.

Gadreel didn't dignify that with an actual response, just stared him down with little more than a curl of his lips and a quirked eyebrow.

“All right, all right, just don't give me that look. Jesus, you should use that face in interrogations.” Crowley shook his head. “I will say, it is the best offer I've heard all day.”

A guard walked up behind Crowley, tapped him on the shoulder, and nodded to the door.

“Well, time to go play with all one thousand of my new friends,” Crowley said, sarcasm dripping from every word. “See you next week?”

“You have to ask?”

Crowley only smirked in reply. The guard hauled him off then, Crowley giving him a wave just before he was escorted out of the visiting room.

Gadreel must have been going insane, because even though his boyfriend (and, Christ, that was an odd thought) was in prison and his workload had just increased tenfold, his life seemed to be going pretty damn well. Two years wasn't an awful long wait, after all.


End file.
